The Royal Flush
by ForThisMoment
Summary: King Edward always gets what he wants. And boy, does he want it.


Hola.

So, I've been on FF for a while, reading stories. This is the first time I've actually _written one._ This idea came into my head... and it wouldn't come out. Like, at all :/ What can you do about it? Anyway, enjoy

As always, all copyrights goes to SM.

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**Charlie POV**

"I don't care what you have to do, do it!" King Charlie hissed in the gritty face of the slave. The slave crouched down, cowering over the impressive frame of the man. "I know that _you_ know who did it – and I .Want. To. _Know._" He crouched down to the elderly, 5'5 man. His eyes flashed a dangerous shade of dark brown, his breaths coming in short, jagged breaths. The slave was breathing uneasily, his Adam apple bobbing as he stared into the eyes of the king. Big mistake. One swift motion was all it took. He grabbed the unfortunate man by the neck, forcing him up to the wall. He put his face close to his, demanding attention. The slave's eyes grew wide when he noticed the metal flashing in his hands...

_16 years later..._

**BPOV**

Crash. Bang. Laughter. She breathed an uneasy breath as she glanced at the unfortunate girl. She had just gone to Duke Newton – one of the many drunken people in the crowd. She stumbled a little when someone pushed her from behind, slowly increasing the line distance from the stage. Her hands already ached from the tight binds of the ropes in her hands. She allowed the long curls of her waist long hair to hide her face as she attempted to catch her balance.

The line she was in was deathly silent. They all knew of what lie beyond the stage. If you were pretty, you were bought most likely to be raped. If you looked sickly, you were bought by men who would work you until you were dead. There was no real 'luck' out here.

Isabella's breathing hitched as the line moved forward. It was now steadily increasing, mainly because the majority of the people in front of her were merely children, or elderly. She glanced a nervous look behind her. All she could see was a flash of golden skin and tightly bound hands before her signifier blush got her caught. The man growled at her, and Isabella was too embarrassed to look him in the face. Instead, she reluctantly shuffled forward until she was closer to the stage.

Her breathing increased, hoping to all of a sudden disappear. Her previous owner had suffered a terrible loss, causing her to be sold. The corners of her tiny, full mouth smiled upward as she remembered her dear friend Angela. Angela had been one of the lucky one's to stay in the kind old man's homestead, tending to the animals. Her remembrance quickly disappeared, however when a crop was brought down on her shoulder.

She gasped in pain, already feeling the stinging affects of the crop seeping through her skin.

"I say 'git, girl", the man controlling the line said. "'re you 'a deaf? It's your tur' up." He drawled out while waving his crop threateningly closer her face. She stared at the ground, forcing herself forward and away from the whip until she was actually moving.

All of a sudden, her bare foot caught on the hem of her skirt. She felt herself falling forward, but because of her bind hands and feet, she wasn't able to catch herself in time. Her cheek hit the hard wooden floor with a smack, her cheekbone throbbing at the impact. She cried out softly, and attempted to try to get back up on her two left feet. The crowd was laughing, while Isabella's face was a red as a tomato.

The announcer declared suddenly, while she was just getting herself back up, "Now isn't she a _fine _purty one, eh fellers? Might not be ok for 'a workin', but I bet she's a tiger in bed!" The announcer grabbed her up roughly by the arm, causing her to almost fall again. The only thing keeping her up was his arm. Every time a bid was placed for her, he would tighten and then jerk his arm up painfully. Isabella's eyes blurred up with tears as the grip continued to tighten, and the bids continued began to rise.

**EPOV**

This whole thing was ridicules. Why did I have to go out and buy a souvenir for someone that I gave gifts too constantly, yet it was expected of me to give them a 'complementary' gift? Simply ridicules. I could have just given them something simple, like a gold necklace. That I could do. Apparently, my sister liked to torture me.

I had been here for over an hour, scourging for the perfect gift. At the market place, though, it was very difficult. Especially when your one hundred miles form home and can barley understand the accents of the native people here.

I took a deep breathe and pinched my nose in the midist of the market man's ramblings, about the 'great deals' and the 'uniqueness' of the jewelry. My best friends eyed me wearily. They knew when I had had enough, and u had had enough. Fed up with the moronic man in front of me, I walked out of the shops opening with the man yelling behind me. I exhaled, and counted backwards from ten.

I hadn't noticed the whispers and jeering up until now. My companions, Lord Jasper and Lord Emmett, hadn't either.

Little did we know that this realization would change everything.

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... Okay. Don't yell. This is my first time doing this, like, EVER. I DO want criticize, but I don't want you to diss my story. I'll try to update soon, but no promises. Thanks for reading? (And yeah, I KNOW this is a bad/ and or sucky chapter... I'm working on it!) Oh, and I know it's short. Next chapter will be a long one – Promise! Please review!


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